Chapter 68
Thomas was dressed in tan chinos and a long-sleeved navy polo shirt, and was shaved and sitting in his kitchen when Lottie arrived. He made coffee for them both on his fancy machine, and she showed him the still from the video McKeown had found on Freya’s iPad.
‘What is this supposed to be?’ Thomas asked. ‘All I see is trees.’
‘Look again. I think Freya Healy accidentally or otherwise videoed a person watching her bedroom from the trees beyond the perimeter of their house.’
‘And you think it was me?’
‘I think you might know who it is.’
He moved the image close to his eyes, then held it out at arm’s length and shook his head. ‘It’s too blurry. It could be a bear, for all I know.’
She took it back. ‘It was a long shot.’
‘Any word on the whereabouts of my family?’
‘No news.’
‘Like you’ve no news on who killed the Healys?’
‘Afraid so.’ She felt sorry for him. Sorry for her ineptitude in bringing his family home safe. Sorry for not finding whoever had killed the Healy family.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been more help,’ he said.
Jesus, they were both sorry. Both pathetic. She needed to get her game face on or she was in danger of asking for another cup of delicious coffee from a man who remained on her suspect list.
‘Did Sadie ever talk about her family?’
‘What family?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Her father, mother, sister?’
‘I told you, she was an orphan since she was a teenager. She had no one.’
‘I find it hard to believe she kept her family history secret from you, Thomas.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. You came here yesterday telling me she was in a young offenders place as a teenager, and now this? Honestly? Are you saying she had a sister, a family? Who are these people?
‘Who is Sadie might be a better question to answer.’
Thomas finished his coffee, put the cup in the sink and turned on the tap to rinse it. ‘You better tell me what you mean, Inspector, because like I said yesterday, I fear I don’t know my wife at all.’
Lottie’s phone rang.
‘Apologies, but I have to take this.’ She stood, moving reluctantly away from the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. ‘Please think long and hard about your wife, your marriage and the lies you’ve been spun. Somewhere among all that you will find the truth.’
She answered the call. ‘Kirby, what’s up?’
Lottie strode up and down the narrow pavement outside Clarice Shaw’s apartment. Kirby walked by her side on the road, which was now cordoned off.
‘Why was she attacked?’ she asked.
‘It’s possible she knew something Liam Scanlan didn’t want her to tell us.’
‘And what might that be?’
Kirby shrugged, annoying her further.
‘You came here for a reason,’ she pressed. ‘What was that?’
‘She’d told Martina that she’d gone up to Scanlan’s place one night and almost slept with him. I thought she might be able to give us a handle on where he’d go.’ He raised his face skywards, hands following suit. ‘God, boss, I don’t know.’
‘Makes two of us then.’
‘She’s a spiky girl. Bit of a dry wit about her. Martina liked her. Maybe that’s why he came after her.’
‘But he’d never met Martina before yesterday. Why would he attack her and then come after Clarice?’
‘Because he’s insane? Because he felt backed into a corner? Because he killed the Healys and we were on the right track?’ Kirby scratched his woolly head. ‘Any or all of the above.’
She watched the ambulance negotiate its way out of the cordon and speed off up Main Street. ‘He neglected to tell us he was at Healy’s on Sunday. But the background checks came up clean, didn’t they?’
‘Unless there’s something from when he was a child or a teenager that we haven’t found yet.’
‘He’s been on the run since yesterday afternoon, when he stabbed Martina. He had the audacity to waltz into town and attack another woman. When was Clarice attacked?’
‘I’d say in the last hour or so,’ Kirby said. ‘Though don’t quote me.’
She glanced up at the nightclub across the road. ‘Get McKeown working on any sort of security footage he can find.’ She looked around again. ‘And there may be dash-cam footage. Issue an alert for whatever you can get your hands on.’
As Kirby ambled off with his phone to his ear, Lottie went inside the small, stuffy apartment.
It had been ransacked, and it would be impossible to know if anything had been stolen until the young woman regained consciousness.
She prayed she would, and that when she did, she’d be able to tell them something to tie Liam fucking Scanlan to everything that had happened.
McKeown had sat in the café in his damp trousers for a long time after Matt Mooney had pitched out his final salvo.
What did Mooney mean about Chloe taking it further?
It wasn’t assault anyhow. How could it be?
The little bitch was gagging for it. Wasn’t she?
Fuck it, he thought, whether she was or not, nothing had happened.
A bit of rough-and-tumble. No harm done.
So why was she making a big deal out of it?
She had contacted him, for Christ’s sake, not the other way around.
He kept this internal monologue going until his brain buzzed with frustration.
The truth was that Mooney could make life difficult for him.
If a formal complaint was filed, he’d be suspended pending an investigation.
That would mean he’d be stuck at home with his wife and kids. If she didn’t kick him out. Again.
No, that scheming Chloe Parker bitch was not going to ruin his life. He would not allow it. No fucking way. If he had hair, he’d be tearing it out right now.
Kirby rang him about some chick who’d been attacked, possibly by the lunatic who’d stabbed Martina. There was CCTV footage to be collected and analysed. ‘Fuck off, Kirby,’ he muttered.
When he regained some semblance of what could pass as composure, he left the café, his coat buttoned to hide the stain on his trousers, and headed towards the area where all the activity was centred.
As he walked, he came up with a plan. Something that might solve his problem. Risky, but it might work. It had to work.